


Impala on the Case

by lifeofsnark



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:53:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeofsnark/pseuds/lifeofsnark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets of a case worked by the Winchester brothers that centers around the Impala.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impala on the Case

The driver’s door of the Impala slammed and Dean slid behind the wheel. After cranking key, he popped a cassette into the slot, and AC/DC’s _You Shook Me All Night Long_ came pouring out the speakers. With his hands casually draped over the steering wheel, Dean pursed his lips and bobbed his along to the hard beat.

He stuck his head out the window after a minute or two, looking at the motel door he’d just exited, its paint scraped and peeling. “Come on, Sammy,” he hollered.

Sam came out the motel room door, his flannel flapping behind him, laptop balanced in one hand. “What the hell, Dean?” he asked, pulling the car door closed. Dean threw the car in reverse, rolling out of the spot, before revving the engine and peeling out of the lot.  “We don’t even know what this thing is yet,” chastised Sam. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Come, on. We’ve been researching all day and haven’t found anything. I thought getting out might help clear our minds.” They pulled to a stop at a red light on the main street of today’s little town. A couple blonds in sundresses giggled when Dean sent a wink their way.  He revved the engine of the Impala, grinning. When the light turned, he sped off. Sam sighed. “Ain’t it a beautiful day to be alive,” crowed Dean.  He turned onto a side road, dust flying up in the Impala’s wake.

They rolled to a stop in front of the sagging grey porch of the abandoned home, the engine idling smoothly before cutting off. Dean popped the trunk, tossing Sam a sawed-off and a machete. Sam caught them easily and turned to the house with trepidation. With a slam of the trunk, the brothers headed inside.

The shadows were longer when Sam tore out of the house, leaping over the stairs frantically. He turned the car on and opened the back door for Dean, who dove into the soft leather, a woman cradled against his chest. Sam popped the Impala in first and tore down the drive, the car growling through the gears.

“What was that thing?” Dean shouted from the back, bracing himself against the front seat.

“I don’t know, Dean, that’s why we were **doing research**!” Sam shouted back, spinning the wheel as the car skidded out onto the main road.  The Impala growled into town, carrying its passengers to safety once more. Dean slid out of the back, his arms still around the woman he’d carried from the farmhouse, Sam still bitching about research. The motel door swung shut.

That night, the Impala proceeded through town with dignity more befitting its age, Dean driving and the rescued woman in the passenger seat. Eventually, he put the car in park outside the address she’d given him, Journey playing softly in the background. She leaned over and kissed Dean on the cheek. “Thanks for everything. I don’t know what I would have done…” her voice trailed off.

Dean turned to face her and took her hand. “Hey, don’t think like that. We got you out and you’re okay, that’s what matters.”

She leaned in a little closer, dim lighting from a distant streetlamp throwing her eyes into shadow. “Just thank you for everything you did, Dean. You did so much.”

Dean grinned a crooked grin and shrugged it off, “Aw, it wasn’t much of anything. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

They leaned in and met in the middle, lips joining as their eyes fluttered closed. Dean drew back about an inch, searching her eyes. Running his hands up to her shoulders he laid her back against the soft leather bench seat of the Impala, _Lights_ spinning quietly out of the radio as the windows fogged.

As morning broke over the fields of rural America, the honey colored-light glinted off the chrome of the Impala cruising down the highway. Sam and Dean sipped coffee out of cheap cardboard cups, working their way to the next case and whatever town that required Winchester-style salvation today.

They drove until they were too tired to drive anymore. The brothers perched themselves on the smooth black hood of the car and watched the moon rise, the black paint behind them reflecting the silvery light of a million stars. They slept in the car that night, Sam curled uncomfortably in the back while Dean slept propped against the door, the hum of a cheap motel radiator replaced with crickets and a breeze through the fields. The men slept on, as secure within the frame of the Impala as other people are when snuggled into their beds.

They hadn’t grown up with a red front door and a white picket fence.  Sam had done his homework against the dash, if he looked closely he could still see the imprint of his rudimentary cursive handwriting assignment against the top.  They’d napped and slept in the Impala the way most people do on their couch- messily and with abandon. Dean had tasted whiskey for the first time while sitting in the passenger seat- after a bad case, John had passed the flask to him and nodded seriously at the green-eyed twelve year old beside him. 

No, the Winchester brother’s didn’t have an address, but they had the Impala. It had seen them through hundreds of cases, through beers and women and betrayal and despair. To Sam and Dean, the growl of the Impala was home.


End file.
